


Captain Isabela's School of Debauchery

by Corker



Series: Broken Dolls [4]
Category: Dragon Age
Genre: F/M, Multi, Pegging
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-05
Updated: 2012-02-05
Packaged: 2017-10-30 16:22:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/333687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Corker/pseuds/Corker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To prepare for the arrival of an unnamed guest, Isabela decides to teach Merrill to peg.  They just need someone to serve as her partner, so they go and ask Seneschal Bran, with whom Isabela has a recurring standing appointment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Captain Isabela's School of Debauchery

The seneschal often worked late; for all that the man could be arrogantly unpleasant, he _did his job_ even when it meant burning the midnight oil. The guards at the viscount’s keep only vaguely noticed if he was in or out.

Since the viscount had asked Serah Hawke to mediate with the qunari, it was also not unusual for that notable, or some of her menagerie of companions, to arrive at any hour of the day or night with urgent news. And so the guards let the two women in without question and without curiosity, although definitely with some lingering gazes at the taller, more voluptuous one. 

Night shift was pretty dull, after all, and a fellow had to take his amusements as they came.

\--------------

“Bran.” He heard her voice from the doorway, but didn’t look up from his work. Even if his pulse picked up instantly and his mouth went a bit dry in anticipation, he wasn’t about to _show_ it. That wasn’t how their game was played.

“Did he hear you?” A second voice, hushed and oddly accented. “Excuse me? Seneschal?” she piped up. This would be the guest she’d told him of. “Hello, we’re here.” 

With a sigh, he put his pen down and looked up. “I _heard_ you, serah. I simply have _important_ things to do.”

“Oh. Is this a bad time, then? We could come back...”

Isabela was biting her lips together in amusement; she took a moment to close his door to compose herself. “Don’t worry, Kitten; he’ll _make_ time for us.”

“I don’t want to be a bother...” 

Bran rocked back in his chair, somewhat bemused. Isabela’s friend, a delicate, delicious tattooed elf (Dalish?), seemed to have no grasp of the play of innuendo and insult that flavored their mutually satisfying arrangement. Which made him wonder what kind of arrangement the two women shared, and how a pet name like ‘Kitten’ figured into it...

“If you don’t want to be a bother, then make it worth my time,” Bran said silkily, finally rising from his chair. “What’s your proposition, Isabela?”

“We’re entertaining a mutual friend in a few days,” the pirate said with a slow smile. “I want Kitten to have a little experience in taking a man before he gets here.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Why do I _not_ think she’s a virgin in need of deflowering.” His tone didn’t make it into a question. “How, precisely, do you mean _take_?”

“We’ve got these harnesses!” Kitten said brightly, shaking a satchel. “They’re quite cunning, and they hold imitation phalluses.”

“As I thought,” he hummed. “And why, pray tell, should I be interested in this?”

Isabela scoffed. “ _Please._ You’re a filthy deviant and you _love_ it when I ram you up the arse.”

He couldn’t very well deny _that_ , not after a month ago Tuesday, but that wasn’t exactly what was under discussion. “ _You_ are a vice-hardened harlot skilled in an uncountable number of debauched acts,” he replied smoothly. “Quite a different experience from allowing a novice to bumble and poke me.”

Isabela rolled her eyes. “Very well,” she grumbled. “Blast, Bran, it’s always such a business doing pleasure with you.”

“It keeps things tidy, I find.”

“Well... I suppose... I could offer...”

“Do you have a large penis?” Kitten asked, blinking earnestly.

He looked at her blankly for a moment before managing an answer. “I find that it serves.” An understatement, but one Isabela couldn’t lampoon.

“It’s only that Isabela writes the most titillating stories about smaller women having sex with larger men,” she explained, words tripping over each other. 

“Kitten,” Isabela said, a note of warning in her voice, “you don’t have to do anything with, for or to Bran except what we’re here for. If he’s going to be a bastard, I’ll figure out a trade with him.”

“But it sounds so _good_ ,” Kitten complained. “I’d rather like to try it. Would that be all right? It’s supposed to be quite good for the man, too, I think.”

He looked her over, from her bare feet to her slender hips to her small, budding breasts and pointed ears, considering how she’d look pinned under him and split open around his cock. The organ in question stirred, expressing approval for this plan. “That will do,” he said.

“Only one other thing,” Kitten rambled on anxiously. “You mustn’t have your release inside me. I’m Dalish, you see, and you’re a human, and... and... well, I simply must insist.”

If she had been more like Isabela, he might have pushed, to see if there was a secret desire under that shame. But he didn’t need to catch the pirate’s warning glance (so stern! Did she _care_ for the elf?) to refrain. Someone who could baldly proposition him like that, explaining her preference in frank detail, wasn’t one to hide desires under shame. “I suppose I will have to content myself with decorating your lovely little breasts with it,” he smiled.

“You think they’re lovely? Thank you!” she chirped, and he started to wonder if perhaps she was somewhat simple in the head.

“If negotiations are concluded...?” Isabela asked, rubbing her brow. She was starting to wonder if this had not been as good an idea as she’d first thought. It hadn’t really occurred to her that Bran, wonderfully dirty, nasty Bran, might not exactly be the best fit with Kitten.

Well, too late now. Trim the sails and full speed ahead.

“Shall we adjourn to the other room, or shall I just clear the desk?” Bran asked, voice still infuriatingly level, as if he had no particular preference where or how the festivities got underway.

“Let’s be comfortable about it,” Isabela decided, striding across the room toward the side door. Since he did put in such hours, the viscount had long ago permitted the conversion of a small pantry into a rest room for the seneschal. It wasn’t much, just a bed a bit larger than one man really needed, a chest and some banners on the walls. The banners, Isabela knew from experience, were only there to have something hanging between the rings drilled into the stone walls so that they didn’t look out of place...

It was, in fact, a small enough room that she reversed course to claim Bran’s comfortable chair, pulling it up to the doorway. He raised another eyebrow as he undressed, which she met with a smirk, dropping into the chair and hooking one leg obscenely over the armrest. “Right. Captain Isabela’s School of Debauchery is now in session. Let’s review. What’s Lesson One?”

“Know your partner!” Merrill announced on cue, shedding her scarf last and reaching for the harness.

“Correct,” Isabela nodded. “But we’re going to suspend that a bit for educational purposes.”

“What?” Merrill asked, slender fingers working the buckles adeptly, tugging a modest wooden phallus into a semi-upright position. “But I don’t want to hurt the seneschal.”

“If you’re going to fuck me up the ass, I believe we may be more informal,” he said carelessly. “Just ‘Bran’ will do.”

“Oh! And I’m Merrill. I don’t think we had introductions.”

“Well, one doesn’t always, in these situations.”

“Well, that’s hardly fair, since I know who you are.”

“ _Ahem,_ ” Isabela interrupted. “Kitten, to address your concern, that is exactly the problem. Oh, this is a brilliant idea!” And it was, it really was. Isabela hopped out of the chair excitedly, rummaging in their bag for her own harness. “Let me demonstrate. You, sit in the chair,” she pointed at Merrill. “You,” she pointed at Bran and smiled wickedly, “bend over.”

Bran knelt next to the bed and leaned forward with a bored sigh, even as his own erection gave the lie to the act. Merrill eyed it hungrily through the door; legs and ass were all she could see through the frame. And Isabela, as she stepped in behind Bran, one hand on the large carved cock she’d selected, the other pouring oil over it. “It’s generally good manners to loosen things up a bit, before you dive right in,” Isabela said. “You’ll practice that in a bit. But Bran’s something of a slut and he likes it fast and hard. Don’t you, Bran?”

“I’d like a bit of _anything_ at this point, if you please,” came the droning reply.

“So, in general? Don’t do this,” Isabela said, before lining up the thick, rounded head of her cock with Bran’s hole and pushing, slowly but insistently forward. The muscled ring gave way gradually, wider and wider as she sank in deeper. 

When the flared head was finally all in, Bran made a small, choked sound, and Isabela frowned. “Now, that’s all right with me holding the rudder, I suppose,” she said. “But Kitten needs to know what feels good and what doesn’t, so you need to tell her. Got that?” she asked, and thrust her hips forward sharply, sinking the toy in to its base.

 _”Hurrrrgh,”_ Bran said articulately, through clenched teeth.

“...he doesn’t sound pleased,” Merrill said. Her vallaslin was creased with a frown.

“It’s... He is, trust me,” Isabela explained, leaving the toy exactly where it was. “It’s sort of a game. He doesn’t like to admit that a sleazy Lowtown pirate whore can get his rocks off, and I don’t like to admit that a Hightown stuffed shirt lickspittle can curl my toes. So we make the other work at it.” She rolled her hips to hear his labored breathing catch, and smiled.

“That seems... very odd,” Merrill pronounced. 

Isabela shrugged and rocked the phallus in and out a few times before withdrawing it entirely. Bran neither whined nor squirmed, although he did lift his head from the mattress to see what she was up to. She turned and sat down on the bed next to him, cock jutting up from her lap. “Come on in,” she beckoned Merrill, who slid apprehensively out of the chair. “The oil’s on the bedpost there, don’t knock it over. In fact, put some on your fingers.”

Merrill picked up the bottle but hesitated. “May I... may I touch you?”

Bran turned his head the other way to confirm that she was speaking to him. His voice was a little rough but somewhat amused when he replied, “Go ahead, if you like.”

She did, tentatively exploring the breadth of his freckled shoulders with her hands, her own carved cock bumping idly against his thighs. His skin was rougher than Isabela’s, and hairier, although his flesh was rather softer. Isabela had cushioning aplently, Creators knew, but was taut muscle underneath. Bran was well-shaped, and fit enough, but not as muscled as the pirate.

She jumped a little when he spoke again: “That’s... pleasant but not particularly stimulating.”

“Oh! I’m sorry!”

He chuckled, which made Isabela stare at him. “Don’t be sorry. Isabela asked me to report to you. That is merely a status update. What you do with it is up to you.”

Merrill looked at Isabela in confusion. “I don’t understand.”

Isabela pursed her lips thoughtfully. “Kitten, do you remember the time I tied you to the bed and teased you all night and didn’t let you come, even though you wanted to?”

Merrill nodded. “Oh, yes! That was a good night.”

“I’m glad you think so,” Isabela smiled. “Bet you wish you were a fly on the wall for that, eh, Bran? Anyway... you’re in charge, under my instruction, but still. Bran’s the one tied to the bed. Not literally,” she hastened to add, before Merrill could ask the question. “Although we could, if you want to.”

“Nnno, I think just figuring this out is enough for today,” Merrill said, considering. “But how am I supposed to know what I want to do if I don’t know what I’m doing?”

“You put way too much thought into this, Kitten,” Isabela sighed. “Look, let’s just start with the basics and see if you can pick up the spirit of the thing. Stick a finger up his rear. Carefully.”

Merrill glanced down a bit dubiously at the hole in question, still shining with oil from Isabela’s ministrations. But she obediently slid one of her own slicked fingers in. “Now, our guest may be a bit tighter than that, seeing as I just loosened him up a bit for you. But it’s good practice. Fuck him a bit with your finger, going a little deeper each time.” Merrill did, until she was plunging in and out with abandon. “Slow down,” Isabela cautioned, “and do that all again, but with _two_ fingers.”

She did, and by the time she had sunk down to the second knuckle, Bran grunted. “I can feel that.”

“He’ll feel it more if you crook your fingers down just a bit... tell her when she’s found the right spot, Bran.”

 _”There!”_ Merrill was surprised at the sudden tightness in the seneschal’s voice, the way the tendons of his neck suddenly stood out. 

“He’s got a special inside spot, just like we do,” Isabela explained, lightly tracing Bran’s jaw with her fingertip. “Give it a few taps.” Merrill complied and wondered to see the results: the big human man in front of her gasped and strained until Isabela tweaked his earlobe, hard. “Let’s hear it, man!” she ordered. 

And then Bran moaned, a long, low, needy sound that shot heat right through the elf. Eyes round, she stared at Isabela. “ _I_ did that?”

Isabela smirked and nodded. “And here’s the best part. You can do that for just about as long as you want. Most men need _a hand_ to climax. Just don’t touch his cock and you can tease him for as long as you like.”

“ _Oh,_ ” breathed Merrill.

“ _Bitch,_ ” cursed Bran.

“Excuse me!” Merrill said indignantly.

“Her, not you,” Bran clarified.

“Smack his ass anyway,” Isabela recommended.

So she did, and was a little surprised to find that it made him twitch and jump and moan in interesting ways. Isabela swore and stripped off her harness, settling back on the bed and leaning against the wall to have a bit of a wank. “Kitten, you are so hot, you have _no idea_ ,” she groaned, fingers rubbing and stroking. “You should beat men more often.”

She smiled shyly, glad that Isabela thought she was ‘so hot.’ But... “Oh! Two fingers, right?”

“Mmm, yes,” Isabela sighed, tilting her bent leg back to the wall to give Bran a good view. “Two fingers, taps, and now start to wiggle them apart a bit, to stretch him some more.”

Eyes shut tight, he blew out air through his nose. “Don’t need... any more stretching,” he managed.

“Of course _you_ don’t,” Isabela snorted. “But our guest will. Take your time, Kitten. Use more oil if you need to.”

She stretched and wiggled as Isabela brought herself off and Bran got less and less coherent. “Is he stretched enough yet?” she asked.

With effort, Isabela dragged herself off the bed to look. “That looks about right,” she pronounced, before reclaiming the chair she’d brought over in the first place. “Now oil it up and stick it to him. There’s another position we’ll want to try, but this is probably the easiest to start with. ...oh, don’t forget where the spot is. You can try to hit it with your cock if you can make the angles work.”

Merrill lined the head of her cock with Bran’s hole, took a breath, and nudged forward. Nothing bad happened, so she nudged it in a little farther. A little farther. A little farther...

She startled again when he suddenly slammed the mattress with one fist. “Fuck me! Just fuck me!” he shouted, muffled by the mattress.

Before she could collect her wits to do anything of the sort, Isabela interrupted. “Or, you know, don’t. Go as fast or as slow as you want; don’t let him bully you.”

Merrill nodded, a bit uncertainly; she did still remember Bran’s earlier comments about a novice poking at him, and was worried that if she just started thrusting away, she might hurt him. So she kept on, tentatively, in slow little fits and starts, which also did very _interesting_ things to Bran. His groans and moans took on a distinctly frustrated sound, and she ignored all his advice about “Harder, faster, now, please” right up until he pushed back against her, strongly enough that she stumbled backwards.

Isabela was out of her chair in a flash, perched on the footboard and one hand fisted in the man’s red-orange hair. “Uh-uh,” she chided him, the gentle amusement in her voice at odds with the way she suddenly wrenched his head around to look at her. “She’s running the show here, not you.”

He panted for a long, silent moment, staring at Isabela, then closed his eyes and nodded. Merrill felt something like a thrill of victory go through her, except that victory didn’t usually make her hot and wet.

“I think it’s time we mixed things up a little,” Isabela said. “And Bran’s knees are probably giving out after all this time on the floor. Want to try out your special cock, Kitten?”

“On him? Can I?” Merrill asked eagerly. She hadn’t thought about it; that toy was something she’d only shared with Isabela, until tonight.

“If you want to!”

“Oh, I do!”

“Then get it on. Lay down, Bran, have a rest.”

She had to redo most of the buckles; her special cock was steel and very heavy. Even with the leather strapped as tightly as she could make it, it sagged sadly if she let it go. Thankfully, she knew from experience that once it was inside a partner, the straps were mostly for making it go back and forth. She oiled it up and turned back around toward the bed.

Confusingly, tonight’s partner was laying on his back, his entrance no longer accessible. “Isabela?” she asked.

“Is that _metal?_ ” Bran asked, much more hoarsely.

“Right, here we go, and yes,” Isabela said. “We’re going to fold him a little more than in half, see? This way you get to look at his face as you do terrible things to him.”

“Terrible things?” Merrill asked, suddenly self-conscious.

“In a good way,” Isabela sighed. “Come on, up on the bed. You’ll probably want to kneel, about here... and we put Bran’s legs up on your shoulders, about here... good! Now lean forward.” Merrill did, and the movement very conveniently rolled Bran’s hips up and back, revealing her target again. “I find it’s harder to hit his spot in this position,” Isabela said with a shrug, “but I think you’ll make up for it.”

Maker’s breath, he hoped so. Bran grabbed two handfuls of coverlet as Kitten - Merrill - sank the chilly metal into him. If Isabela were merciful, she would have bound his hands to the headboard. Instead, being the wicked tart that she was, she’d left him with only his self-control keeping him from taking himself in hand and finally stroking to release. All these hesitant, irregular, almost half-hearted thrusts were torturous, neither inept enough to ignore nor skilled enough to drive him mindless with pleasure. 

Merrill spoke a few words of what he guessed was elven. The phallus, which had been warming as she plunged it in and out of him, miraculously turned chill again. Not chill, _cold_ , and he openly gasped at the sensation, eyes opening wide. (Merrill was smiling down at him, obviously pleased with herself.) And it... it didn’t melt. Bran had played games with ice before, but they always ended soon as the water melted. This just _stayed_ , a slick icy intruder that made him feel somehow more open and exposed than the modest size of the toy should have. 

“Like that?” Isabela asked from her chair, masturbating again.

“Yes,” he answered, voice distant. 

“She’ll have to stop before you get too cold, but don’t worry - there’s more tricks.”

The word _apostate_ was floating somewhere in his mind, an explanation for the impossible. That was confirmed as the toy warmed within him, losing its chill - and then getting warmer, hotter, as she thrust it in and out of him. “More,” he croaked, and this time she obliged him, increasing the temperature until it felt just short of scalding, a beautiful, blazing fire that left his nerves raw and over-sensitive. He bucked as the magic fell away, trying not to thrash wildly and knock her off the bed, as the simple smooth slide of metal over reddened skin threatened to undo him.

Then she seated herself and stopped. He stared up, panting, ready to beg again and no longer caring if Isabela heard. 

Then something inside _tingled_.

Merrill saw the confused look on Bran’s face but, in a flash of inspiration, realized that she didn’t have to explain! She kept concentrating, carefully bringing up more of the storm-power and letting it flow out through the metal cock. 

“She’s doing the electricity thing, isn’t she?” Isabela asked from behind her. “Isn’t it wonderful? It’s like your magically fucking yourself on her cock!”

It was, really. Merrill had used the electricity trick on herself more than a few times. She made some small, slow thrusts, out of time with the energy pulses, and Bran’s eyes rolled back in his head. She thought that meant he liked it.

“Ready to bring him off?” Isabela asked.

“I think so,” Merrill said. Bran’s mouth opened, but nothing came out of it.

“Just reach down and stroke him,” Isabela said. Merrill obeyed, petting the seneschal’s purpled member - it did seem to be a quite large one, and so soft! Were they all like that? - but Isabela choked with laughter. “Not like stroking a cat! Here...” She came ‘round the side of the bed and demonstrated, circling his prick with her hand still wet with her own exertions, and pumping.

“Oh, I see!” Merrill said, taking over. Isabela climbed up onto the bed as well, squeezing in behind Merrill. One dark, bejeweled hand played nimbly with one of Merrill’s pink nipples while the other snaked down behind her, then up between her legs.

Merrill cried out happily, the electricity trick going _fizzle_ as her concentration evaporated. But she remembered to rock her hips and her hand followed along in time, and Isabela picked it up, stroking her to the same rhythm. Bran seemed to not know where to look, eyes dancing from Merrill’s ecstatic face to where Isabela tweaked her nipple to the pirate’s dancing eyes as she suckled an ear-tip to where her fingers disappeared under the harness to that shining silver cock pumping in and out of him ---

\--- and then Bran just closed his eyes and threw his head back with a shout, a spurt of thick white liquid erupting from his member. Merrill watched as it spurted again, and again, less each time, until he seemed to have pumped himself dry. “Oh,” she said thoughtfully, just before Isabela practically tore the harness off her and worked her to a climax of her own.

She slumped forward, drowsy and happy; Isabela followed, and Merrill found herself caught between the two humans. Bran was regarding her with those hooded, sleepy eyes of his, then he looked past her to Isabela. “Right now?” Isabela asked. “You are _not_ ready to go again.”

“No,” Bran agreed. “But it seems a shame to waste such a delightfully compromising position.”

“True,” Isabela said thoughtfully.

“What?” Merrill asked, just before two mouths descended on her lips and neck.


End file.
